Culprits of Action
by Galecia
Summary: Collection of Avengers one-shots. 1: No Words. Natasha and Clint needed to forge no words to communicate exactly what they thought as it entered their minds. That kind of communication was fostered from years of being partners. All Avengers will eventually be included. Canon pairings unless otherwise specified. Rated M for language. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So this will be a collection of one-shots, Avengers centric. Updates won't be regular because of school and my other fic I haven ongoing but I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Marvel.**

**P.S. You know how Jeremy Renner looked in the Bourne movie? That's how I imagine Clint looking in this first one. Hot.**

* * *

_Chapter 1: No Words_

They shared a smile.

No words were spoken- it was too early for that. Coffee brewed in a small one-cup pot so they each had to wait.

Neither had said one word, or spared more than a seconds glance.

It was one of those rare mornings after a mission that went relatively well. Meaning Clint only had one sprained joint and Natasha sported a few bruises on her lower back from an impact with a steel girder in the wreck yard.

They were somewhere in Germany, undercover, in a backcountry safe house, nestled out of the way. Fury mentioned it had belonged to someone important but neither agent had paid much attention to the ownership at the time they were debriefed.

They didn't pay much attention to anything that morning, devices sitting in the upstairs bedroom where they'd left them the night before. They would check into a SHIELD base later in the day, there was no hurry.

The bad guys had been dealt with, all evidence meticulously removed, and Natasha smiled at the prospect of relaxing for a few hours.

Clint had been rummaging around in a hall closet after breakfast, picking out various pieces of equipment. The winter chill invaded the hall and he pulled his sweater closed more when he stumbled on three pairs of snow shoes. They looked dark and shiny, new. There was also a pair of skis and a snowboard.

Clint removed the snow shoes, stepping into the front room where Nat was lounging on the couch, looking out the window into the blinding snow crystalized by the winter wind, eyes reflecting the refracted sunlight and catching Clint off guard for a few seconds.

Nat blinked at him, seeing what he held.

No words were exchanged.

* * *

The rest of the Avengers would never understand how Natasha and Clint needed to forge no words to communicate exactly what they thought as it entered their minds. That kind of communication was fostered from years of being partners, trapped in dangerous situations and working together to get out of them.

It wasn't just being partners- any duo could accomplish that. The agents had formed a bond, through constant bodily presence and _practice_. A connection like theirs didn't come naturally as the others believed, nor because they were sleeping together. That happened on occasion, of course, _because three months in a tropical forest just _did_ things to people._

Trekking out onto the flat plane of hard, crunchy snow effectively put Clint's mind at ease. They didn't walk next to each other; Nat was slightly ahead and to his right, scanning the trees either for wildlife or something more sinister, Clint wasn't sure. Her black wool hat barely covered the flip of red hair at its brim, swept up in the wind.

They wore all black, not fearing being spotted. The only sounds and movements came from a few miles off in the surrounding forest, hoots of snowy owls late to sleep through the day.

Natasha kept the pace, and Clint followed until his inattention stopped him short of crashing into her back. She held a hand up, looking from side to side.

Clint turned his back on her, the safe house a pinprick in his eyes, for now they were closer to the forests edge, which lay only a hundred meters from their position.

Nat's hand connected to his wrist, squeezing twice in quick succession.

_Two men_.

She didn't remove her touch, fingers gloved and itchy against the bare skin between his jacket hem and leather gloves. They stood still for a few more moments before Clint heard what his partner had. _Boots._ Two sets crunching deep in the snow, which was hard to walk through without proper equipment, and with a feral smile Clint realized _the men had no equipment._

Clint reached his opposite hand, the one she didn't hold, back to grasp her wrist. He squeezed once, not letting the pressure up.

Her head leant back and he felt her nod, seeing the ends of fiery hair in the corners of his eyes. He closed his. Took a breath.

They ran.

* * *

Clint heard the shell casing hit the iced over patch of snow near the foot of the tree. _Silencers._

He hadn't lost track of Nat even if he couldn't spot her. They weren't stupid in thinking a small walk through the snow could be entirely harmless, they wore earpieces and carried guns like people who valued their lives.

Feeling a little insecure without his bow and arrows, Clint held his gun precisely and with confidence. One thing he knew- this would be entertaining.

Nat's heavy breathing came through his earpiece. They'd taken off so fast it had the two enemies shooting at shadows, for it was much darker in the woods even without leaves on the crooked branches. Pine trees were his greatest cover as Clint maneuvered behind one of the faceless men. They wore masks and carried hunting rifles outfitted with homemade silencers.

_Private contractors?_ It was probably what Nat was thinking when Clint saw her pause in her approach, hugging trees as she went, show shoes still on. he could see her irritation at remaining silent, for in that forest one small sound echoed like a cannon.

If Clint had eyes on both their assailants, he would take pleasure in seeing Black Widow hunting her prey wearing _fucking snow shoes_. Since that wasn't the case, Clint kept his eyes roving the dense scenery around him, blue skies above blocked almost completely by large trees with braches that interwove.

The sound snow made when it impacted after something large and blunt hit its surface was something Clint smiled at hearing.

He felt Natasha rather than saw her take down the man by crushing his head between her thighs and catapulting him into a tree trunk before he hit a mound of snow.

Clint didn't reveal himself to his partner, knowing Natasha purposefully stood out in the open for a reason, to attract the second one so Clint could dispatch him before anything happened.

It was a risky tactic, but necessary because the men wore white, blending in with the endless snow.

For a few minutes nothing transpired.

Natasha was getting visibly angry, probably using imaginative swear words and internally complaining it was cold even for northern Germany. How she could be inside with more coffee, a habit shed wanted to kick but never would.

Clint knew her too well, so when her eyes narrowed slightly beyond what they had been in her frustration, Clint shot up.

They had silencers, and it was no surprise that once Clint got off his knees there was already blood seeping through Natasha jacket. Her hand pressed against it. He was an amateur, Clint knew, for the grunt after the recoil bashed his shoulder echoed through the bars of trees.

Natasha nodded to Clint as he drew up to her, _she would be fine_, and together they swept past the trees like wraiths in the shadows, taking their chance that the man was equally inept at deconstructing his long range sniper.

Clint wasted no time ripping the white ski mask from the man's face once Nat had him subdued in a chokehold, back pressing against her and putting up less and less of a struggle once Clint had used the man's sniper on its owner.

A morning well spent with child's play.

Clint left the gun and bodies where they'd fallen, walking with Nat back to the house before she lost too much blood. Either the man had purposefully aimed for a non-lethal section of her shoulder, or he missed. Either they had been paid to take them alive or kill them. It mattered not because they were dead.

SHIELD would want to know… but looking at Nat back at her spot on the couch with a cup of coffee, half her shirt pulled down to reveal the bandage across her shoulder, Clint put down his phone.

They had a few hours before they were supposed to report in to Agent Hill. There was no hurry, and Clint rather preferred the silence where no words were needed or expected.

* * *

**A/N: This popped into my head in the middle of the night after updating my other story, and if there doesn't seem to be a lot of emotional 'oh no she got shot' in here it's because I'm pretty sure Hawk and Black Widow are used to this stuff.**

**I'll try and update another one-shot soon! Hope you enjoyed.**


	2. 2: Not Everything is Recoverable

**A/N: So because I'm super stuck on the very large chapter I'm working on for my other chapter fic, I needed to work out some frustration here. So enjoy another one-shot!**

**I decided to try a different writing style I've seen some writers on here try, so please review or PM so I can get some feedback if you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel. *tears of frustration***

* * *

2: Not Everything is Recoverable

Have you ever run so fast that you can't stop? When you get to where you're going, it's difficult to comprehend what you see, your heart is in fits, and breathing forced by a consciousness not yours. You are locked in a perpetual state of fear upon seeing what lies on the ground at your suddenly stopped feet.

Seconds before, none could stop you, and now you cannot even kneel beside the body of someone you call a friend, in their pooling blood, to give comfort.

You share looks, like "Is this happening, is this even possible?"

_What have you done?_

You ignored their calls, is what you've done. You know this; you were thinking you had time to get to them. You had a few more minutes to drown out their calls for help with punches and bullets to deal with the enemy threatening the city, to save a few more lives- knowing your teammate could hold their own for a moment longer as they'd always been able to.

You don't think it was a grave mistake to believe they could survive _this_- here they lie, face bruised and ripped, their entire being begging with spasms for help and eyes locked to yours, not being able to look away from the blinding hope you bring.

Crouching down you mutter meaningless things to stall their bloodied, gargled words and into your earpiece you're screaming for someone, anyone. This is not how they will die- this _is not_ how you'll watch them go.

Your fingers lace with theirs, the only time you'd ever hold their hand. They are so proud but in that moment you both have shed pride and those stupid little things that get in peoples way of being _people_. For now neither of you are Avengers.

The dust around you never settles, rubble constantly falling as the enemy sends in another wave of those _things,_ nameless, faceless monstrosities from another planet, and you have to control yourself from screaming at them to just _leave_.

You drag your teammate around a jagged piece of fallen concrete, staying their blood from falling with your hand and a ripped piece of their black SHIELD issued suit. Colours blend and waste away, leaving their skin pale against your hands.

"Don't move." You say, hoping that they can understand. The presence of drooping eyelids and small wheezing breaths cluing you in that they may not be able to.

"SHIELD can you hear me!?"

There is only static… and sirens, far off a few blocks from your position.

Your limbs feel so heavy, arms weighed down and shoulders slumped, gazing at them.

Lifeless eyes gaze back, falling short of seeing your face, seeing something in the dusty air between. Unfocused, and for them that is the scariest thought. They are always focused.

Flecks of ash skitter across the ground, the street is dirty, and an unworthy place for them to die. One of your teammates would recall a glorious battle.

Another would say he never remembered; it remained black in his memories.

One of them would mention how he had run out of arrows halfway through and resorted to seldom used guns.

The leader would only remember worrying for his team, guiding them to safety or towards other targets.

You would remember sitting in the street and watching your friend die, hands still soaked in his blood and eyes never ending their desperate search for where the hell his suit had fallen when he'd been ripped out of it.

You know what _he_ would've said afterwards, the man leaving your hands red, something about shawarma and relief efforts for the victims caught in the middle of the streets turned battlefield.

You want to hear him say it, so you keep your hands pressed against his abdomen and head bobbing to keep his eyes on your expressionless face, words pelting through the din for anyone who would listen that you needed help.

You find yourself _screaming._

Tony Stark was down and he wasn't getting back up.

* * *

**A/N: At first I was going to leave this anonymous to whom the two on the team were, but then I decided not to.**

**Hope you enjoyed! I promise the next one will be kinda happy.**

**For those reading my multi-chapter, I AM SO SORRY. I promised two chapter updates but life got in the way. Tomorrow you'll have an extra-long chapter though!**


	3. If Ever She Leaves

**A/N: Yes, this is my second one-shot with Natasha and Clint. I am not sorry. I think they're dynamic and you can read this as slash or just a really close partnership.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel.**

_Inspired by the song Gone Gone Gone by Phillip Phillips._

* * *

_ If Ever She Leaves_

What held him there was not love, and he closed his eyes as she closed hers. Together they braved the dark. Their silhouettes would have made one perfect shape if there had been light. It was only them and the dust.

A thousand words flitted through her mind, making up for his silence. His hand curved around her uninjured shoulder, resting there as if to say he wouldn't leave.

He did not want to leave.

"Clint. The roof is unstable." A strand of sweat and blood soaked hair stuck to her lip, and he felt it move against his other hand, the one on her cheek. Thumb pushing it aside, Clint spoke softly into Natasha's ear: "More reason for me to stay, I think."

"No one's coming for us." Her voice was equally as soft, unsure. Anymore noise would collapse the remaining rubble blocking out the sunlight.

Clint held in a sigh. That was the problem with undercover missions in other countries, ones where not even SHIELD knew all the info. Going in blind meant the possibility of not coming back out.

The damaged architecture of the medieval cathedral on the oceanic cliff they'd been sent to meet with their contacts had been rotted. One misplaced bomb and the two agents found themselves under sheets of broken stained glass and old marble statues, carved indifferent faces cracked down the middles.

The spiraled, elegant beams of the inner dome toppled down on them, in Clint's attempt to push Natasha away from a falling pillar he miscalculated in a rush of adrenaline and panic. Instead of her entire body, only her legs were pinned by an angelic statue, the wings having broken off to form around her, protecting her from pieces of slivered beams and glass. Clint had crawled over to her under the arc of the angel's wings to see its body holding down hers. His efforts had been in vain, instead of a quick death, she was bleeding out slowly.

She was right. No one was coming for them. As if the building wouldn't allow Clint to try and find help it gave a groaning creak and he heard more fall behind them.

"There's no extraction." Saying it made it easier, laid out what wasn't an option.

Taking mental stock of her injuries, she swore in Russian. "My femur is broken. If you move me and take pressure off my femoral artery I'll bleed out Clint."

"Not moving you." Proving it, he leant back and sat cross legged, removing bow and quiver strapped to his back.

The two assholes that set off the bomb had killed themselves in the process- amateurs. Not only was his partner in serious trouble, but they'd lost valuable information with the contacts' deaths.

The wind was howling through, whistling between the cracks in the walls. Sun filtered in through half panes of glass still in intact behind them, red and gold scriptures and words made the inside of the cathedral resemble a snow globe.

Clint carefully removed a medium sized piece of wall still nailed to a beam, tossing it out into the dust to let some light in. The gold made Natasha's hair shine, the cut on her lip sticking out as the only sign she was hurt. Other than smudges of dirt on her neck and suit collar, she looked as poised as the angel pinning her down, as feathery as the marble wings on either side meeting overtop in a perfect point.

Clint stared at her; she stared at the cracked mosaic floor tiles. His lips were moving before he had even conjured the idea to speak his mind. "You're the other half of this thing. Can't really leave you here."

He was graced with a rare smile. "'This thing'?"

"Yeah, _our_ thing. Assassin duo, ninja twin thing…"

"You're hanging around Stark too much."

"His rafters are nice." Wasn't a viable defence, but it kept the smile on her face. A smile easy to vanish when she focused on the pain of having both legs crushed.

"Clint," That was it, he knew. His worst nightmares were always about this moment. "We both knew going into this that… _this is what happens_." They'd known, so as not to build up hope for the future, keeping everything in the present. _This is what happens to SHIELD agents._

Clint preferred not remembering Nat half-crushed like paper, sweating and trying to hold her weight up on her two arms, pelvis being crushed into the floor, blood on her cheek.

Moving forward slowly, making his movements known to her by keeping eye contact- even if it was Black Widow, the adrenaline rush would make anyone jumpy- Clint positioned himself sitting as close to her as possible and took her upper arms in his grip.

He laid her across his lap so that she no longer had to support herself. He would do it. It was his only chance of helping her.

This was the Natasha he'd remember, her head turned to look at him awkward as it was but he could see her eyes reflected in muted light. Smell the coppery blood now seeping from under the statue.

She'd lose consciousness before anything else.

"Thank you." She'd sighed as soon as the pressure was lifted from her sore arms.

His wry laugh filled the bleak silence around them, when had the wind stopped howling? "Back at you." **_For giving me my mind back after Loki, for putting up with my shit. For everything._**

Natasha always knew what Clint said between the lines. "I don't have a choice when it comes to you," She said it as if it was a personal offence, being human with emotions and everything else that came with living- it came with him. He had a way of getting her to see there was more than just her job, her past. Some nights Natasha hated that about him, that core bit of his personality that brought out her best while obscuring his worst.

His laugh lightened, reduced to just a man having a conversation with his best friend. "No one can make the Black Widow do anything against her will."

"I'm more than the Black Widow, Clint."

**_Sometimes I wish you weren't._**

He wanted her to always be the strong one, it's how he saw her when they first met in that back alley, his bow still string with an arrow, her eyes wide with anticipatory fear and a little adrenaline as she made the connection of _he's here to kill me_.

So Natasha threw a knife at him, one she'd produced from her coat sleeve. It had glinted silver in the winter moonlight and he saw it coming. He asked if they could just talk, she swore at him and tried running into the slushy streets.

She'd melted a bit since then, had more room for error and emotion, being exposed to his.

"What will you put in the report?" Some qualities he couldn't take from Natasha- her want to take sentiment out of a situation to make it more bearable.

There was only one other time Clint had been with an agent when they'd died on a mission. It was faster, more gruesome, a few bullets to her clavicle that had broken splinters of bone and severed her carotid. Her eyes were the only reaction he saw, she couldn't scream or writhe or do much except whisper over the gunshots still concussing the air. _Don't let SHIELD tell my mom._

Clint agreed but it was too late, she was gone and he was running without looking back.

He told her family before filing a proper mission report.

Natasha Romanoff didn't have family outside of the Avengers. And it went unspoken Clint would tell them before even Fury why he was walking into the Tower without her.

He could just imagine coming home to them huddled around the television watching the news, or a movie and Steve would be the first to ask how things went.

"I'll say…" **_Something they expect. You did your best. While trying to diffuse the bomb it went off. You died quickly._** "I'll say the usual. Agent Romanoff died in the field with honours."

Her voice was fading, and Clint kept his eyes on the beams of light coming in through the opening in the rubble, or the pock-marked marble of the angel statue. "Nice touch…" She closed her eyes against the too bright light, the sun having moved to slant it directly in her face. "…Not everyone sticks to the rules."

"Except us, right?"

He expected anything except her shallow breath hardly moving in hot wisps against the forearm he had draped across the back of her shoulder. She had rooted him by speaking, her words and the movement of lips against skin.

"Nat?" If he allowed anything above a mutter into his voice he'd lose it.

She had fainted from blood loss, the small rivers of blood in the cracks of the tile now hitting his boot, spilling out of the small rivets between tiles to completely cover them.

Without preamble or a warning gasp, Natasha stopped breathing. It was over in less than a second.

Oppressing blunt silence hung off the scrape of his boots against the tile, smearing the blood he didn't even notice the hem of his pants bathed in.

Gently, he took the edge of the angel wings overtop half her body and flipped the statue, throwing it to the side. Once the dust settled and cleared, he tried not looking at her mangled legs.

He kept her smooth, peaceful face in his mind's eye and carried her out of the church.

**_We never made any promises we couldn't keep. _**What held him there hadn't been love. **_She never promised not to go first. _**It was not guilt. **_I never promised I wouldn't regret that._**

What had held Clint there was duty and loyalty that persisted even when she was gone.

* * *

**A/N: I tried not making this sappy, and I apologize if they're OOC.**

**Leave a review if you sweeties have time! Hope you enjoyed. **


	4. Absence and Presence

**A/N: Team one-shot. All included. This wasn't meant to be sad or so long, I swear!**

**This part and the final (second) part of this one-shot is to make up for no updates for my other fic this week.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel.**

* * *

_Absence_

Home doesn't always feel safe.

Safety comes in doses. You can carry them with you- trinkets of your past life or that of someone else's. Little things that make you feel safe. Your home is the same- the people you fill it with, the things they bring with them that remind them of _their_ homes.

Suddenly their things, your friend's favourite sweater, or that heavily worn and beloved book that really isn't yours spell safety without using words or even actions.

It's the presence of the thing.

Suddenly Bruce's glasses on the coffee table makes Tony feel safe. Reminds him of home when he sees them on the conference table on the Helicarrier while they explain to Director Fury what happened. Tony is exhausted, in numbing pain, the fight he battled on account of the one member of the team that's missing from the briefing haunts him until his eyes lose focus on the drone of hushed conversation.

Tony knows how close a call it had been, he doesn't need Fury to berate it and drive it into them again. Tony was there, he knows what the others don't,**_ and they still blame me_**.

They are all gathered except one, and the silence that drops after the Director stops talking says it all. He dismisses them, and Tony leads them back to the Quinjet.

He knows it's not four walls that make a home, because it feels like they're leaving a piece of home behind on the Helicarrier as they board.

They're leaving Captain Rogers, and going to an empty place to sleep for the night.

Tony thinks it's his fault that Natasha won't stop glancing at him as she lifts the Quinjet into the air.

He thinks Thor is fidgeting because he is leaving a comrade in arms behind, because of _him_.

He honestly believes Bruce won't look him in the face because of what _he allowed to happen_.

Steve almost died; they almost lost a part of their home because of _him_.

What Tony doesn't realize is that Natasha can't stop thinking about the moment she saw Tony drag Steve out of the outpost building. Thor can't stomach looking at the bruises and scratches Tony didn't notice he had marring his face, or the hand wrapped heavily in bandages that blood still managed to leak and stain through the pristine white. Bruce just can't handle the anger he's feeling towards the organization that did this to his friends.

Clint just wants to redo the last seventy-two hours, pretend that the silence on the jet is nothing compared to the chaos they'd escaped. The absence they all felt was too heavy, too much.

* * *

**72 Hours Earlier**

_Static… slow steady beeping… heartbeats out of control screaming protest after protest-_

_"STARK!" _

_"Cap he's going to die!" _

_"Tony what are you doing!?"_

_"Anyone have eyes on Banner? Anyone have eyes on FUCKING BRUCE?"_

_"No one wants to see Bruce fuck, Hawk."_

_"Tony!"_

_"We're under heavy fire- shit! Cap is down!"_

_Static…_

"-and thanks, Cap, you got your entire team killed. So much for being a tactician." Clint's Xbox controller hit the edge of the sofa, narrowly missing Steve's foot. The archer stretched his legs across the floor, arms above his head. It felt good to stretch after almost six hours of playing on Stark's new system, the screen now back to its default setting, lighting the whole penthouse floor with iridescent black and red light from the fake blood splat on Steve's POV screen.

Steve kicked the controller away, pulling his headset off, almost growling. "I hate video games. Give me real action any day." His eyes were sore from the display of pulsing lights and so much camera movement he thought he would be sick. **_How do people play these ALL THE TIME?!_**

"Clint" Pepper warned from her position on the second couch, a book in hand and a file opened on her bent knees. "Be nice. It's his first game and he lasted longer than I did."

"Really?' Natasha piped up from where she sat beside Clint, her own headset still on and ready for another round. It was a sad reality that's how she now spent her Friday nights, in Stark's tower with her team and playing video games like a teenager. She never really was able to be a normal teenager, like many of the Avengers, so she didn't think on it too much.

She'd never admit to liking the bonding time, and the insight to how they all played a combat game was right up her alley.

"Tony always 'accidentally' kills me. Something about unlocking some achievement?" Her sweet smile was just that, sweet and loving. She went back to her notes, not noticing the cold stares levelled at her boyfriend, whose mouth was open in shock.

"Wow, Stark that's cold."

"Shut it angel wings." Tony got up, stretched while asking JARVIS to raise the lights. Dim lights illuminated the floor, blocking out the view of the city they'd had in the semi-darkness.

"I think twenty failed games is enough," There were murmurs of agreement; Clint patted Steve's shoulder on his way to the elevator in silent apology. "Nat and I got to check in early to SHIELD so we're off."

"Clint it's a five second ride to our floor, it's still early." Natasha followed anyway, knowing it was moot. She could tell Clint was drained, rubbing knuckles into his eyes in a way he hadn't done for a very long time. She tried not to worry much, but her brow creased anyways, soon smoothing over once Clint put his arm over her shoulders. "Sayonara,"

Everyone said their own versions of 'goodnight' and 'byes'. Pepper peeled herself off the couch eventually when the conversation moved towards the bar, Bruce already seated with a glass of scotch, matching Tony's.

Steve grabbed his carton of milk from the small mini-fridge- something Tony vehemently opposed to when he'd found it. No healthy, dairy products near the booze. Steve and Tony's friendship had been stagnant, but there was camaraderie. In the field they were perfectly in sync, so the team didn't care much they bickered like rowdy siblings most of the time.

"Think the wonder twins are dong the nasty?" Tony said it with such sublime innocence that Bruce made a face.

"Not really any of our business, Tony," The doctor commented quietly.

A snort came from behind Pepper, where Steve had retreated to stare out the glass towards the city skyline. "Everything is Stark's business, so he believes."

Pepper, sensing one of their more heated fights on the horizon told them she was retiring. "Don't forget, Mr. Stark, you're going with Clint and Natasha to SHIELD tomorrow."

"Not going to remind _them_ too?" With his glass he gestured to Steve and Bruce, who wore matching smirks. Fury had called them all in that afternoon and Bruce had managed to push it until Saturday morning- almost blaspheme for Tony, who'd rather be in his lab.

Pepper grinned, heels held in one hand and files in the crook of her elbow. "Do not make me tell JARVIS to wake you up, tomorrow. I promise it won't be pleasant." The doors closed before Tony could reply.

* * *

"You're to retrieve the device without any problems, understood?" Fury, hands behind his back and eye on the team seated around the table, had swept in dressed in black, suspiciously contrite for what the team believed to be a run of the mill mission.

Tony removed his sunglasses for the first time since entering the building. "You're sending all of us to… fetch a hard drive? What's on it?" His phone had been sitting on the table, untouched for the last half hour. Fury eyed it warily, knowing if Stark wanted to know what the drive contained he'd hack his way to it and find more damning evidence. **_Better to just tell Stark and get it over with._**

"Photographs. Delicate ones."

"You dressed as a playboy bunny in a pink furry suit?"

Not even Captain America could hide the grin at that. Clint outright cackled, "Sorry sir," He whispered once his composure was back, indifferent look on his face mirroring Natasha's. Her mouth hadn't twitched.

A voice overly feminine and hard as smelted steel spoke behind where they sat, body holding open the conference room door, "Stark I admire your humour, but now is not the time."

"Ah, Agent Hill, I was wondering when Fury's shadow would arrive."

"The drive contains classified weapon information. If it were to get to the wrong people…" Hill flitted out as fast and she had come in, apparently only passing on her way to more important things. The silence filled them in, each Avenger playing different scenarios through their minds.

"So, we get the disk and no harm done. Where is it?" Steve reached for the open file, flipping to the appropriate page only to find a stamped **Classified** where the drop location should have been.

"Again… this mission is to be under the radar. There's a pilot waiting in the Quinjet for you, I suggest you get a move on." Fury swept out wearing an odd expression but Tony couldn't decide if it was good or bad.

**_Bad, always go with bad, _**Tony thought, locking eyes with Natasha who only shrugged, noticing her boss' foul mood too.

* * *

It wasn't the duration of the flight to the secret drop location. It wasn't the fast reactions of the local militia noticing the Avengers had infiltrated their operation. It wasn't even the fact that Tony's reactor was threatening to fail any moment that weighed on him and made his heart start skipping normal beats.

It was the sight of Captain America, lying on the floor of a dingy abandoned outpost building in the middle of an African jungle that had Tony staggering to find his balance.

Steve was in deep shit and Tony couldn't wriggle out of his captors grasp long enough to even yell at him, the hand at the billionaires' throat and mouth clamped too _damn tight_ the he had no choice but to _watch_.

Steve looked up with glassy eyes at the ring leader's shaven face and Armani suit, his pristine manicured hands clutching the hard drive they'd been sent to recover. "So, Mister America, give me reason to spare you and your friends, yes? You are surely not getting everything you want this day, because even the great SHIELD cannot steal my personal property." At that point in his speech the man had crouched down beside Steve, careful not to get bloodstains on his expensive clothing or hands. "Either you're entire team are lambs for the slaughter, including you and the Iron Man my friend is entertaining, or you tell me why Fury wants this." He flicked the hard drive so close to Steve's face it riled Tony, wriggling against his captor's body in vain.

Tony remembered the flash bomb, the effects still straining his own eyes and wondered how horrible that had been for Steve, who still had episodes of PTSD when he was caught off guard.

Walking through a harmless jungle with monkeys hooting at your every step had been the definition of _off guard_, distracted.

White dots still crowded his vision- and Steve had been the closest to the explosion. Pieces of shrapnel stuck out of Steve's neck and Tony had panicked for a few moments when he'd woken to see it. Tony knew how harmful shrapnel could be, especially when these African dick bags had loaded them with _nails and screws._

Not even a super soldier was immune to that. It had weakened him, and the beating these guys were giving him didn't help. Steve's dirty blonde hair was smeared with dirt and blood, a small cut on the inside pinnae of his ear where someone had ripped out an earpiece.

The Iron Man suit was propped up in a corner, guarded by three men loaded to the necks with guns. The suit was an old Mark III, so it wouldn't turn on without JARVIS, which they'd lost connection to as soon as the bomb had gone off and scrambled the signals, knowing out all systems in the alloy suit.

"I.. don't know what's on it." Steve's unwavering voice tore Tony's eyes away from his empty suit and onto his teammates face.

**_Oh God_**, Steve looked about to faint.

Armani wouldn't allow that, his fingers dug into the rip on Cap's torso and pushed in, eliciting what the leader thought to be a delightful moan of pain.

"Cap don't-!" Tony's outburst earned him a punch square to the jaw. He'd bet all his money there was a pretty pattern across his face and arms by that point, not to mention the strangling bruise forming around his throat he could feel burning itself in.

This wasn't like the video game they'd played the night before. This time, the Captain had made all the right calls to deliver them in and out safely. He just didn't anticipate the counteraction the operation would make so soon after they'd grabbed the disk from the crappy two building warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

Armani let go of Steve's head, resulting to it rolling to the side after a sickening smack on the floor. Steve locked eyes with Tony for a few seconds, blinking. It had been two hours, and half that time Tony guessed they'd both been unconscious. There was no telling where the rest of the team were- Tony hadn't exactly been hearing the Hulk smashing his way through the forest around them.

Steve held a hand flat over his fist, wrists bound behind his back. The way his hand-

**_Oh_**_,_ it clicked and Tony felt retarded, he almost grinned in forgetful exhaustion that this _wasn't funny. _It was a code. Tony had to give the guy some credit- even being beaten past the point any other man would have given in, Steve remained the exact man Tony's father had known.

Cap's gesture told Tony very clearly to _stop talking, stand down_.

Two men hauled Tony up by his arms, pulling him to a wall on the other side of the room. There they cuffed him to it and left, walking past Steve without so much as a second glance.

Before Armani left through the steel door of the windowless room, he looked at Tony for the first time. "I do hope your friends find you in time. As I understand it, you cannot last long with your chest piece malfunctioning like it is."

The door shut, enveloping them in darkness that only lifted with the faint flickers of Tony's reactor hitting the walls, bathing them in pale light.

Tony swore, using words he knew the Cap would oppose to if he had strength enough to speak.

"Cap?"

**_Keep calm_**_._ No good ever came of freaking the fuck out like Tony wanted desperately to do. He'd been in this situation before, so had Steve. They were two grown men, _Avengers,_ they could get out of this.

In the chaos and noise of Tony's mind, he realized Steve hadn't answered his call.

"Captain?" Tony tried again, keeping the panic at bay.

A grunt. "Stark." Steve didn't sound like himself.

Perfect, the only time he wasn't chipper and dandy like white on rice. "How ya doing?"

"Peachy." Steve's silhouette was hunched, facing away from Tony, lying on his side, head bowed. "You?" He spoke to the concrete floor, stained with blood.

"Ah, finally we agree on something. I'm great." **_Lie_**. Tony's arms were held high above his head by metal cuffs on a bracket, attached to the wall behind. They were pretty high, not enough to raise Tony off the ground from his sitting position. They'd left his arms uncrossed, because if they had been… Tony would be in too much pain from his shoulder blades separating to be talking. Still, the way his arms were twisted was certainly painful.

"Stark, your arc reactor,"

"I know," He could feel it, a heavy weight on his chest remaining steady not unlike a concrete block dragging him down under the sea.

Steve grunted like he'd tried to move, but from what Tony could see the soldier hadn't shifted an inch. "Can you fly?"

Good question. "No. Not enough power."

"Can you get free?" His voice was becoming softer, calm. Tony admitted he missed the hard-ass voice of Captain America, because that's who they needed right now.

"They took all my tech."

Tony was sure Steve would have given a hearty laugh, but his voice was still hardly audible amidst the silence. Even the jungle beyond was quiet, if they still were in the jungle. It was humid enough, still in a tropical wasteland but how far from where they'd been separated from the team? What had Armani suit done to the rest?

The small building had to windows, and Tony could guess even if they were to walk out that door there would be posted guards.

Steve wasn't sounding so hot, his breathing became shallow and quick, and still didn't attempt to move from his position lying sideways and hunched over himself, still facing away.

What was he trying to hide?

Steve was too still, it was too quiet. Tony despised uncontrolled silence; the kind of quiet one submerges themselves into when they know there's nothing to be done.

The dark silence didn't last long, with less sarcasm than Tony expected from his friend, Steve said, "You're telling me the man who built the Iron Man suit in a desert cave can't pick handcuffs?"

"Lend me one of your old timey bobby pins, Princess, and I'll do just that."

Usually his smart-ass remarks would entice Steve to make one of his own. For all the good soldier hype he got as Captain America, his snarky comments rivaled Tony's at times.

"Don't faint on me Cap."

As his eyes adjusted, Tony could see miniscule movement of Cap's arm, the rustling Tony before then believed to be coming from outside was in fact Steve's attempts to move. A few seconds later, Steve tossed something over behind him to land at Tony's feet. "Use that to get out. I'm fresh out of bobby pins."

"Can't reach it, my arms are above my head. Would you be so kind?" His words were not charming or pleasant; Tony couldn't muster enough energy to play pretend anymore.

It hit him how much deep water they were in when he'd turned his body painfully to glimpse what Steve had thrown over. It was a nail, from the bomb that had separated their team.

Pale light from his reactor illuminated the slick, dark blood covering half the nail.

Steve had dug it out from his side; the one he kept turned away.

"Give me a second Stark."

**_You don't need a second, you need help. _**"Know what? I'll figure it out. You just stay posed like a French girl and I'll shuffle my feet a little and pull of one of my many escape plans. I built Iron Man in a cave, remember? It'll take a genius like me to get us out of this. Remind me when we get back to SHIELD to ask eye-patch to pair you with Natasha for missions from now on. Yeah, we'll be _fine_." His not fine rambling distracted him from what Steve started doing. Tony wanted to look anywhere but at him. True to his word Tony tried pulling the bloodied nail closer to him by a foot.

Steve pulled himself along with one arm, finally turning to face Tony. In the little semi-circle of light the reactor created, Tony saw that there were two more nails embedded in Steve's torso, one of them sticking halfway out, the other almost right in.

_Punctured lung, severed artery, impaled organs_, all of those possibilities Tony could think of ran in and out of his mind before he could shake the jolt away, huffing to catch the breath that had been stolen by his teammates state.

"_Christ."_ Escaped passed Tony's thin, angry lips before he could think of anything else to say, anything except acknowledge how bad this was getting.

"Not as bad as it looks." At least Steve could still string a whole sentence together without losing his breath.

"Really? Are you fucking serious? Is that why you tried to hide it? Because I _wouldn't _freak out at how _not serious_ that is? You may be a super soldier with that serum running in your-"

"Stark!" Steve's head was bowed; he'd made it onto his knees but no further. His shoulder shook, one hand over the nail embedded almost to the flat edge. In the face of Steve losing his temper, which really was not an often occurrence, Stark shut his mouth.

"Can you-" Steve's eyes shuttered and fell closed, his body soon following. All Tony could see from the meager light his reactor produced was his legs, the rest of the Captain remained in the dark.

Tony shifted, effectively pulling the nail closer to his body. "Cap!" If he could get the nail into his mouth, even if it meant dislocating an arm to get free, Tony would pull out every piece of foreign object in Steve's body. "Captain?!"

A confused, semi-annoyed voice. "I'm injured… not dead, Stark."

"Natasha would be able to pick the cuffs with her fingernails I'd bet. Pull some kind of weird spy trick on it."

"Nat wouldn't… get caught…"

Not panicking even a little when the nail skittered across the floor when he'd panicked at Steve's weak voice and the blood that should have been in the soldiers body and not on the floor, Tony got a very bad idea.

It was the only idea he had. **_Fuck this is going to hurt._**

Tony tried ignoring how much Steve trembled, going for his usual trick of speaking to distract them both while he mentally prepared himself. "Red riding hood gets caught all the time." Tony needed to keep Steve talking.

"Always … her… intention..." Steve struggled for air, anything to suck into his lunges but all Tony could hear were wisps of strangled breathing.

**_Shit._**

"Okay, Okay, only option. I can afford the best surgeons, yeah. Let's hope I don't black out from the pain."

Mentally counting to three, Tony yanked as hard as he could on one arm, pulling it down with all his strength, breaking his hand. Layers of skin were shaved off, seared against the metal, blood dribbled down into his hair and shoulder, the side of his face before he yanked a second, grueling time, hand slipping from its cuff.

The adrenaline rushed, blocking the pain centers of his mind momentarily so all that spread with the blood up his arm was a warm haze of tingling numbness. With his broken hand he managed to grab the nail, keeping himself from screaming by biting his lip until it was bloody.

After a few clumsy tried at the thing, with the cuff slick with blood and his arms covered in it, Tony dragged himself over to Steve using his one good hand to brace himself overtop the soldier, straddling his chest.

From the pale pallor of Steve's face, there wasn't much time.

"_Steve!?"_ The shout was lost on the soldier, echoing around them like shadows getting lost on their way into the bare corners of the room, hanging there with no purpose. His screaming did nothing to rouse the fallen hero.

Tony slowly came back to himself, the tunnel vision receding until all that was left were sparse black dots clouding his vision. Swiftly, he pulled the two nails from Cap's torso, feeling still warm blood gush slowly before stopping. **_He should be healing by now. _**Tony stared at the pricks, so small they shouldn't be causing so much damage, to the nails he carelessly threw away as if connecting the two in his mind would help, to will such small nails powerless weapons. **_No, no this is NOT where you-!_**

A serenity seized him, all of a sudden setting Tony's mind at rest, his thoughts as slack as the pale Captain's face.

His focus pulled solely to one motivating piece of this puzzle, the men who did this. Tony Stark prayed there _were_ guards at the door, standing guard hidden in the greenery of the jungle.

"_Steve?" _One last time. No answer came, only their shallow breathing mixing to make one lonely sound as if only one of them existed in the semi-darkness.

Tony would make every single one of those bastards pay.

**End of Part 1.**

* * *

**A/N: It ****_is_**** a one-shot, but it will be in two parts.**

**Review please!**


End file.
